


Shivers

by metawohoo



Category: Gotham (TV)
Genre: Creepy, Gen, I swear this is not slash, badfic, cutting things fanclub
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-02-06
Updated: 2015-02-06
Packaged: 2018-03-10 18:53:43
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 1
Words: 533
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3300080
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/metawohoo/pseuds/metawohoo
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>A short work on Victor and Oswald.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Shivers

**Author's Note:**

  * For [Ephy](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Ephy/gifts).



> Dearie: you told me to stop talking about this, or to write it. Well here it is ;)

Victor rarely spared a thought for Oswald Cobblepot. He was a creature of insomnia, illness and deception, whom he would take care of in time. It was only a matter of days before the young double, triple, quadruple turncoat's treacherous ways outweighed his usefulness to Carmine Falcone. At that point, Victor would be sent after him to do what he did best. And it would be elating, too.

There was a thing to be said about the man: he would whimper beautifully while begging for his life. How he pleaded, already, when he was caught red handed being _himself_. How he bargained, and promised, and fabricated. How he shook with terror even when he felt he could outwit the wisest of the wise. When the topic of his termination came up, Victor allowed himself to think of the ways he would make him bleed. Up, close, personal. Shiv to the chest, twisting, tearing, feeling lukewarm _red_ wetness on his fingers, for snakes were cold-blooded. He would listen to the melody of his cries and not to his words, of course, for on that way lay madness and stupidity.

The last time he had entertained those fantasies, Don Falcone had been doubting Oswald's loyalties. It had been days before, and Victor would not have remembered the little snitch if he had not found him quite involved with his hit of the day.

His target was tied up to a hook in the ceiling of his own warehouse, and Oswald Cobblepot was talking to him. Teasing. _Taunting._ The coats he turned weren't always his, from the looks of it. His captive, one of Maroni's friends, was kept at gunpoint by one of his own men.

Oswald could broker the strangest alliances. Then again, that was his gift. Crippled and weak and sickly as he was, his tongue was silver and his words were poison. And as most whose strengths were ignored, he was angry and seething and so eager to punish those who had belittled him. In victory, he shuddered with joy and pride.

"And", he said, "while blood is thicker than water... It can still run cold."

He got a small, thin knife out of his pocket and stabbed the man. Victor sucked in a breath. He was about to jump forward, for the young creep would _ruin it_ , but Oswald was flushed with the pleasure of it, and he knew his way with a blade. Stab and stab, stab and twist, over and over again, eyes locked with his victim's. Victor felt a shiver course through him, a wave of exhilaration, and he stood, transfixed, hungry.

Oswald noticed him a last, and turned, feverish and panting. Whatever he saw on Zsasz's face, be it hunger or need, it pleased him, for he relaxed and smiled.

"Oh, Victor, I didn't see you there. I am so _very_ , _deeply_ sorry. I hope I didn't trespass on your... Territory?"

The hitman tried to regain his composure, but Cobblepot wiped the bloody knife on his tight, the stain vanishing into the black cloth of his pants, and it was all Zsasz could focus on.

Oswald grinned.

"Victor, oh, Victor. What good friends we are going to be."  
  
###  
  



End file.
